Scaena Vermiculous
by Deathly Betrayal
Summary: Why don't you lean closer, and listen to the staff's tales of grandeur for yourself? /Written for YukiSkye's FanFiction Challenge


**A/N) I just wanna say... this entire concept was thought up at 3am, so don't expect anything much :o You'll understand what I'm writing later!**

**For YukiSkye's challenge.**

**Scaena - Play / Theatre**

**Vermiculous - Crimson / Red**

* * *

.o: Scaena Vermiculous :o.

The crimson staff lay on the overgrown grass, causing an illusion of a dark red smudge among masses of dark green. Layer upon thick layer of dust lay above the area, and it was quiet. Silent, really, other than the occasional bird call or animal squeak - but other than that, there was absolutely nothing to hear. But if you leaned way close to the staff, you could just hear a soft whisper, begging you to release its legacy.

White bones lay around it, seemingly perfectly gridded. However, it was simply bone, weakened in time and snapped apart from the weight of animals. Where the owner of this staff, and the bones have gone, no one would know. No one, but the staff and the bones themselves, and the spirits too, possibly.

The staff itself wasn't anything much to look at. It was dark red, crimson really, and at the tip there was a levitating jewel that glittered in the light. It was, in some strange way, like a crimson eye, watching you and every move you made. Red petal-like segments, tipped in a glittering gold, blew out of the centre, and it was simply _exquisite, _a work of art.

And like all works of art, it can be mimicked, copied, and traced. The original creator was no where to be seen - but of course, almost everyone this staff had seen with its unseeing eye is already currently dead. _Almost_ everyone.

In fact, if you sat Luminous down for a talk, he would be able to tell you the roots of origin the staff belonged to. He wouldn't be able to tell you how it saw the world, however - only the staff can do that. Only the staff knows how it saw the world, and what it has heard, and what secrets it knows.

But it is only able to watch, wait, and listen with parts that it does _not _have, for that is all that it can do - for that is all that any weapon can do. But this staff - this staff has history, and that fact is what differentiates it from the rest.

It watches, waits, and listens with parts that it does not have, for that it all it can do, for that is what any weapon at all can do. While other weapons have their own history, this staff's just _might _have the most majestic out of all of them.

* * *

Those petals - did you know? Those petals - they used to be razor-sharp blades, and they were gray at first. Could you believe that? But what else would you expect from a weapon that is named what it is - coated in blood. It was a sword at first, a deadly sword with thorny whips that lashed everywhere.

Its first owner had eyes like fire, and hair to match. Amber eyes that blazed with a constant rage that never dissipated, and wild blond hair that flared upwards, seemingly defying gravity with its unkempt locks. His attitude matched how he looked - blazing a constant urge to _fight_.

He never really got anywhere from his constant fights, and he denied the sayings that said he was afraid of death - until he fell to it himself, rage always burning in those eyes of his. Eyes that the staff didn't have - but it watched.

This staff had seen many, many people - _far _too many people fall to its first owner's hands. Blood was often sprayed everywhere, over the staff that the owner was too lazy to clean other than the blades themselves - until the blood became crimson stains and the blades turned dull over constant use.

It was thrown away then, its potential of being a magician's weapon not used, and not known.

The first owner was known through the land as Rage.

* * *

The jewel - did you know? The jewel - it used to be an orb of complete, utmost power, shoved into the centre of the staff to be displayed to everyone. It gleamed with an unearthly light of its own, and it gave the weapon a mystifying look. The jewel floated and ignored the rules of the world - like many other things in this stupid, dysfunctional world.

The second owner was a most powerful magician, with his crimson orb that served as his own weapon in the battlefield. He used the orb to magnify his current powers, but it just wasn't enough for him. He magnified it further through the power of the staff, drawing the orb into the weaving of it.

He was an old, old man, with a curved spine that bent his back. He lived, he breathed, but never really lived at all. He killed and slaughtered with the staff, much like the first owner, and he grew corrupted with power.

The staff saw the ignorance and fear that simply _thrived _through the Dead Nights. The nights that were so full of murders and slaughter that it was named in terror. The staff lived through it all. The orb was crimson, like blood, and it haunted the memories and dreams of everyone who saw it.

This second owner was known through the land as Nightmare.

And like one, he simply disappeared from history to the rest of the world, and it was like they had simply woken up from a dream.

If only it had been that easy.

* * *

The color - did you know? The color - it was stained with blood from the first owner, Rage, and sustained by the second, Nightmare, but it always disappeared. But now, its color is retained by the third owner.

This third owner was a young thief. He sharpened the staff again, just for himself, and he used it to slaughter the Nightmare, but he never used it to kill anyone else. The color was retained by a honest kill, used only for peace. He had it in his hands for only a few precious days, but he passed it on.

While he doesn't seem important, he is, in a way, and although you don't know the stories of him, you need not fret. He killed the second owner of the staff. Blood flew everywhere, again, but no one cared for an old man's death, especially not one that had brought such fear.

The staff's owner shifted - it was now his. It was his to keep - but he didn't.

He sold his staff to a person that he deemed worthy of it, and he had chosen correctly. There would be no more war by this staff. No more deaths.

The third staff owner... was known as Dream.

* * *

The fourth staff owner was a brown-haired magician in the shadow of darkness. The previous master of Aurora had turned to necromancy and threw away his former, lighter shell. This brown-haired magician was a powerful one, with the control and the companionship of a king.

The king was strong, with dark, obsidian scales, and bright golden horns and claws. It had huge, leathery wings, a sandy-brown color, and large reptilian amber eyes that never, ever blinked.

This magician had used this staff only once - to activate the runes of Rhinne, the Time Transcendent. He helped to solve the rift of time, sealing away the entire temple, and was knocked aside by the monster of an enemy. The Death Master attacked him viciously, but from behind he was sealed, albeit recklessly, by his former shell, the one that had been thrown aside.

This magician had gotten up and watched as the Death Master was sealed immediately, and he relaxed against his dragon, his staff clattering to the ground. The staff could see how it was - the life-source of the magician was ebbing slowly away, like a tide.

This magician had used this staff to seal the Death Master, and he was successful at the cost of his own life.

The fourth staff owner was Life.

Because you _do_ know Life and Death cannot coexist in peace.

Or if you prefer, his name was Freud, the Dragon Master.

* * *

This staff saw the man that had sobbed over his previous owner, with his blond hair and rich, fancy clothes. This staff had noticed the gray-haired man and the time pass, and had seen thousands of years' worth of days and nights.

This staff has no owner now, lying in the dirt, forgotten by many, and it would probably never be picked up again. There hasn't been a strong enough magician for years. Even though there was, some of them have no concern for it.

Why don't you lean closer for yourself, and listen to it tell the memories in which it lives on.

And if you dare, why don't you just pick it up, and use it for yourself? You just _might _weave your own tale of grandeur into the staff's memories, and engrave your name into history for the years to come.

What is this staff's name you ask? Why, this is the Eligos Bloody Rod. The Eligos Bloody Rod that has woven its story into history a million times over.

* * *

**A/N) Right, so I've ended up writing about Freud's staff. It isn't a backdrop, it isn't a character, it isn't a monster, but I liked what it can become, and... yeah. I don't think I have the slightest chance of winning, now! XD! I wasn't really thinking about it, I'll admit.**

**This also ended up quite short, but what did you expect, I'm a horrible writer. Boom. xD!**


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